DX01: SINGULARITY 26763

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: An Olympic-sized ice rink stretches out, morning sunlight reflecting off the freshly resurfaced ice. The air's pretty crisp, still, and smells like ice and equipment grease, Echo. The rink's ice resurfacer is just going around in circles on its own, like stuck in a loop, leaving a trail of smooth ice behind it, and somehow the ice's edges are perfectly maintained with no signs of melting, even though it's clearly sunny and warm outside. Uh, my name, Echo, is etched into the ice near the rink's entrance in block letters, no idea how it got there.